Just an Ordinary Day
by Xmarksthespot
Summary: Barbara saw Robin's mask fall off and recognized him immediately as Dick Grayson. And then the city blew up before her eyes. Post-Apocalyptic AU.
1. When we met

**By**: Xmarksthespot  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own any copyrighted material, including works that belong to the Young Justice cartoon and DC comics.  
**Notes**: Written during the summer time, pre-Invasion hiatus. I had a poll on my profile asking if it should be posted as one chapter or multiple, and while many voted for one, even _I_ got bored reading it all at once because it was so long, so it shall be a four-shot! And it was never intended that a post-apocalyptic story be posted on December 21, 2012. That is merely _coincidence_.

Please review at the end of the chapter! I spent a very long time with this story and would appreciate it if you took a few extra seconds to provide some feedback or comments!

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**Just an Ordinary Day**

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A doctor once said that if you're exposed to a virus for long enough, you'd eventually become immune to it. It took Barbara Gordon one hundred forty-six days, eleven hours, and twenty-nine minutes before she was able to block off the sound of a person in pain. On the one hundred forty-sixth day, eleventh hour, and thirtieth minute, she ran passed a crying woman whose entire body had more red on it than _The Flash_.

It was quite true, the expression: every man for himself. It was one of the many things she had to adjust to in her new life. Barbara just had a difficult time convincing herself that sleeping to the sound of explosives being set off every other hour was no less different than sleeping during a thunderstorm. Or that the sounds of adults and children running down the streets, away from their race's worst enemies, were like hearing the pitter-patter of the rain. It made her feel even worse to know that as a child, she used to love the music that the thunderclouds made.

-.-

There is a small shelter straight up ahead, just a small classroom's distance away from her; it is disguised as a mess of barrels containing explosives, lined up against half a brick wall, and a tarp that is latched onto one of the penetrating nails. The barrels have no explosives. At least, they shouldn't, and if the creator of such a sophisticated home is experienced enough, and wants to keep warm, he or she would have checked before using such a thing to shield the people inside.

Sometimes they are labelled as having radioactive waste, which is harder to clean out, but slowly dying from chemical residue is rarely on a person's list of concerns.

Barbara has slept in a total of twenty-three shelters made up of materials covered in chemical waste since the invasion. She would tell the children in those shelters that the oozing, bright liquid from the containers were used in fireworks back then, during the fourth of July when the sky was like a garden of lights, but it would only be so long until she finds children who have never seen fireworks in their lives, only bombs.

Darting her eyes back and forth, Barbara scans the area for any witnesses. Like a thief in the night, she disappears in the shadows, and makes her way towards a small hole she assumes to be the entrance. She pushes aside one barrel to enter the tiny fort.

The men harbouring in the shelter all panic, pulling their heads up high and lifting their arms with loaded guns in their grasps. The women and children huddle behind them, equally frightened.

The redhead lifts both of her hands in the universal sign of defense, and looks at them straight in the eye. She purses her dry lips, which have more cracks running through them than the desert ground, and then opens her mouth to speak: "Wonder Woman," she says clearly and confidently, holding her stance until all the men look at one another; they nod and finally lower their arms.

Barbara doesn't talk to any of them, merely sitting down in the corner and curling into a ball. She keeps her ears opened though, waiting for the next golden ticket to be announced on the radio.

Many of them had to learn Morse code, because the host on the radio, at any time they wanted to, can say, "La-di-es and gen-tle-men…we…seem to be…los-ing…signal…" followed by a series of taps, which would indicate what name or word would be used for that week – a ticket into a shelter without a bullet through the head.

The radio goes through its routine static attack again, and suddenly the crew at the shelter huddles around the worn out piece of equipment. There are taps that follow the moment the announcer's voice goes mute.

Barbara closes her eyes and tucks her head down between her knees. She bites her lip hard so that the physical pain can drive away the mental torture attacking her mind, but stops when she begins tasting blood along the edges of her mouth.

She traces along the scars that embrace her arms and legs, taking into account a new one. Back then, if she had showed up at Gotham Academy with as many scars on her arms as she did now, she would've been sent for psychiatric help immediately.

Just thinking about her past dries her throat again, and to shoo away its discomfort, Barbara gulps. But the sound that comes immediately after is _not_ from her, so with a quick exhale in preparation, she looks up to see a child of six or seven years sitting near her, reduced to tears.

"I-I don't –" He hiccups. "–I don't understand the taps."

Every man for himself, Barbara thinks. She refuses to teach him how to understand it, in case any _unfamiliars_ are listening. She can tell him he wouldn't have to know, so long as he'd stay put, but that's merely telling the boy to stay in a lion's den until the pack comes home from hunting, still hungry from their lack of prey.

But the bright blue eyes that are staring back up at her, tugging at her heartstrings like a circus boy playing with the ropes on a trapeze, convinces her to give in just this once.

She musters a smile, hoping the boy is unable to see through her false happiness, and responds to him.

"The password is: Robin."

-.-

They had met on a Monday.

It was at 8:17 in the evening to be exact. Barbara shied away from the boy standing nearby, glancing at her father's wristwatch before tugging the hem of his coat, silently begging him to take her home. But Jim Gordon insisted she try to make new friends, especially while he was coming up with his speech last minute for that night's charity gala.

The room was grand with chandeliers of sparkling crystal stones that had Barbara bewildered at its beauty.

She would later find out that Richard Grayson, the small boy standing next to Bruce Wayne, had broken three of those sets of lights, in attempt to swing from one to the other.

She supposed that's what brought them together: her mesmerisation for the enchanting ballroom, his schemes that concerned the things _in _that room, and _fate_.

Of course, before then and perhaps any other coincidence after then, Barbara never believed in fate. It was like a placebo, or something imaginative to the naïve mind; Barbara was used to mathematical calculations and hard-core facts – it was why she had spent so much time in the non-fiction section of the library.

But yes, that particular encounter had been up to fate. Out of all the children at the gala that night, it had brought her: the tomboyish daughter of Gotham's detective to him: an orphaned product of the circus, recently adopted by a multibillionaire who had more models around his arm than her father had guns.

It was after meeting Dick Grayson that Barbara started to believe in fate, magic, and all other unknown possibilities.

Perhaps it was why she was searching for him now, because everything enigmatic and magical was associated with him in her mind. And maybe, Barbara thought, if he was alive, then there would be hope in the world after all.

-.-

"Get out," the man growls, grabbing onto Barbara's wrist and yanking her from her position. "You're making too much noise – you're going to be the death of us all! Get out!"

Most people these days live on a limbo: half awake and half asleep.

Screamers don't last very long; most people who are loud during their sleep are more prone to attacks, and are shamefully kicked out onto the streets – every man for himself, after all. They usually kill themselves soon after, just to end the pain early on. If not, then they pray every dusk and dawn that their screams isn't like sticking a hand into a tank of piranha.

Praying never really helps.

And for those who don't scream…They usually do in the end anyway.

-.-

"On the count of three…1, 2, 3…"

"Captain Marvel," both Barbara and the boy across from her say. They nod in affirmation and she lets out a breath of relief, satisfied that she didn't have to take down another child.

It's what she hates the most about these aliens; they can control the adults all they want, and pretend to coexist with humans in order to lure them in as bait, but using the bodies of _children_ as puppets – Barbara feels nauseous just thinking about it.

She hides herself in a dumpster that evening, honestly thinking she wouldn't have company. But then she stumbles upon a younger boy in the same trash bin.

He gives her a large grin, and she's almost envious that he has so much optimism left in him.

"I'm Billy Batson," the boy says, introducing himself.

She only nods back. Leaning against the walls of the waste container, she hopes that sleep would overcome her within a few short minutes. However, she can't help but watch the young boy, sitting there and staring at the sky and its never-ending abyss.

Barbara is tempted to tell him that he could keep doing that, stare at the heavens, but there is no way he could fly away – away from their run-down planet called Earth. At least, she assumes it's still called Earth.

But there's something about the sight of the dark haired, blue eyed boy that prevents her from doing so. His cheerfulness reminds her too much of someone else; this boy, Billy, couldn't be more than a few years younger than she is, though that's only an assumption. His face makes him look a lot older than a person in their teens, but in this day and age, where looking thirty is the new twenty, the sagging bags under his eyes, the lines blemishing across his forehead, and the crooked nose – as if it has been broken and placed back together poorly several times – aren't really a big deal.

Billy's arms and legs, all strewn up together and being pushed in the small dumpster's corner, remind Barbara of a corpse's. A lot of things are easily compared to corpses these days; then again, corpses are pretty easy to find.

"Did you hear that?" Billy suddenly asks, knocking Barbara out of her thoughts.

She didn't. Living on the streets for the past several years has left her partially deaf, with bullets constantly being fired, airships propelling down into the city, screams flooding the area, and that high pitched ringing noise that lingers in one's ears for several minutes as a mushroom-shaped cloud is seen from a distance. It's a lot more difficult for her to pick up on the finer details now.

She doesn't bother shaking her head to tell him the answer. Rather, she holds up her index finger and presses it against her lips – they both hold their breaths.

Before they know it, the dumpster holding them topples over.

Barbara lands on her side, feeling more bruised than usual. She holds her head up, eyes widening with each passing second.

There, just a few feet from her and Billy, are a group of monstrous aliens with puke-coloured scales, fangs, and menacing blood red eyes, each with three pupils – she remembers hearing that the more humans an alien creature has consumed, the darker and redder their eyes.

"Kroloteans," Billy spits out, pulling himself out of the bin.

She turns to him in confusion, questioning the word from Billy's mouth, and wonders how he knew it. But it isn't long before she shifts her attention back to the creatures that are lusting after their flesh; they tower over her and Billy like a bully to a kindergartener on a playground.

Years ago, when these creatures first landed, they couldn't have been any taller than a kid in primary school. She used to be able to hold one with just one arm, but looks were deceiving. After a few years of feasting on human meat, or after having found some sort of advanced technology, they mutated into something far more grotesque.

"T-There's too many of them," Barbara breathes out, clenching her fingers around her bag. In her peripheral, she can see other shelters being ransacked, and people's limbs being used as toothpicks.

The three alien creatures in front of her and Billy lower, readying themselves to pounce at their prey.

"Billy, we have to run. _Now_!" She yells, turning her body.

"You run, I'll stay here and slow them down!" She hears Billy scream from behind.

Her legs don't slow down–they obey the young boy's order. And truthfully, at that moment, she doesn't care so much that she left Billy behind. It's become a habit for her now, to run when she has to. It's why she screams at night and gets kicked out of shelters so often: she sees their faces, the people she never stops to save; in her dreams, they all blame her.

But Barbara has to deal with it, because if she stops to save just _one_ person, she would be going against her father's last wish: she promised him she would live.

Pushing Billy away from her mind, she dashes for the edges of the city. She isn't in Gotham anymore – she left that city many years ago – so racing through the streets is based on pure instinct; she isn't quite sure if she is heading in the right direction, whatever the _right_ direction is.

The last thing she hears before escaping the region of feasting monsters is Billy's thundering voice:

"SHAZAM!"

-.-

Clean air in Gotham was rare, especially when one was on ground level where all the pollution leaking from the plethora of cars and transportation vehicles enter the nostrils as easily as traffic building up at noon time. Thankfully, there weren't many factories that contributed to the smell – they all lied on the outskirts of the city.

But when Barbara felt like it, she would climb a water tower, or perhaps go to the roof of a really tall building, just soak up the fresh air.

It makes her sick now, knowing that breathing in clean air is like walking pass a smoker and inhaling their cigarette's contents.

Sometime after the invasion, she had taken residence inside a building that was completely sealed shut. The scent, untouched by the war, was almost overpowering.

At most, she stayed there for a total of two days, retrieving any necessary items she needed and stuffing it into her worn out bag. She would attempt to access the computers to see if anything had updated, but the online community was a graveyard compared to the living one.

She left soon after; the smell of lavender and potpourri were nauseating and she couldn't handle it anymore.

The smell of rotten corpses and explosives is the _new_ new-car smell.

-.-

"Dick?" She called out as she pushed the door open, lifting one arm to protect the wind from messing with her hair any more than it did on her way to Wayne Industries. Her eyes narrowed towards a shadowy figure standing by the edge, and she was unsure if he was staring out at the horizon, or if he was facing her with that familiar grin on his face.

She beamed when he started to approach her.

"Babs!" He said with excitement in his voice. "Are you here to watch the sunset with me?"

She could finally see his face, slightly obscured by the orange sun behind him. She purposely bent her knees slightly, so that it would seem he was almost as tall as her – boosting his confidence was sort of her specialty.

"What's this I hear about you and Bruce?" She asked, but frowned when she only received a shrug. "Alfred called me to see if I knew where you were; you know hearing a British accent in distress makes everything sound worse than it really is, Dick."

But the boy raised his shoulders, lowering it right after, something he had gotten into the habit of doing as of late – she had once heard Dick's "aunt" Lois call it 'teenage rebellion' but considering Barbara was thirteen as well, she didn't really want to agree. However, this had been the third time that month where she was informed that Dick and Bruce were fighting.

"Bruce is probably really worried, you know," she told her best friend.

Dick merely stepped back towards the edge of the roof again. "Nah, he's at work with his colleagues – in the air with Hal or maybe running around with Barry –you know, with his forensics work or something. He's not gonna miss me much."

Barbara pretended not to notice his feeble explanation for wherever Bruce was. The Wayne-Grayson-Pennyworth family had a knack for doing the unexpected, so whatever it was, she hadn't really cared.

She walked over to him, leaning against the railings as well – the rush of adrenaline from being so high up startled the butterflies in her stomach. She looked at him.

"There are security cameras up here, aren't there?" She asked, though she already knew the answer, having been up there several times in the past – it had gotten to the point where even the employees in the building recognized her enough to let her through; she only knew the way to the roof anyway.

"Yep," Dick confirmed.

She nodded. Clearly Alfred just wanted Dick to have some company while he was blowing off some steam, seeing as Bruce knew exactly where his ward was.

Barbara turned away from the boy and stare in awe at the beautiful, reddish-orange sky.

-.-

The first time Barbara had killed someone, as in physically injured a person enough to have killed them, was five months, twenty-three days, and two hours after the invasion.

She had shot Jim Gordon four times in the back until his body went limp, and the alien creature crawled out of his body; Barbara shot it too.

She spent the next four hours digging a grave for her father with her hands.

She hasn't cried much since.

She hasn't touched a gun either.

-.-

"Shh–it," Barbara curses through clenched teeth.

She had missed the previous radio broadcast, and few shelters rarely accepted newcomers with the old password. This isn't the first time she has missed it, but she has always managed a way to find it out for herself, usually by sneaking around and listening to the radio without anyone noticing.

Except someone _had_ noticed this time, and chased her with their pistol.

She had taken pride of being able to estimate where the bullets were aimed, and then allowing herself to dodge them. Her reflexes were quick, and she was fit enough to knock someone out if she had to. Except the ability to escape a few gunshots must have riled the civilians up, because they seemed to be convinced she was an _intruder_ and wanted her shot down more than anything.

Luckily, Barbara had lost them, though not without a war wound to her arm. With some antiseptic she had recovered over the years, and her water bottle, she digs into her flesh with her knife and fingers until she finds the bullet. She wraps a cloth around it after.

This makes scar number thirty-two.

-.-

"Why do you like watching the sunset so much, Dick?"

Back when Barbara's hair was still long, her arms naked from any tissue damage, and her smile was a gesture of appreciation and not for the joy of knowing she got to eat that night, she tried to hang out with Dick as many times as possible. It wasn't often, due to his extracurricular activities, or whatever it was that Bruce Wayne made him do, but it was enough for her.

She watched as he pushed himself upwards, both hands latched onto the railing encircling the roof of Wayne Tower, and kicked his legs up into the air so that he could place his bottom on the cold steel. Barbara would've grabbed hold of his arm to prevent him from falling, if she had just met him for the first time, but after four years of knowing the boy, she only rolled her eyes at his attempt to keep in touch with his acrobatic roots.

He sat on the railing as calmly as a bird sitting on a tree branch, even if it was hundreds of feet in the air. Barbara liked to remind Dick that he was _not_ a bird and _not_ capable of flying, but he had always ignored her on that; instead, he had said:

"It's good to say _good night_ to the sun, Babs. You never know if you'll be able to say it again tomorrow." He finished off with a snicker, as if he had just thought of something amusing, but kept it to himself.

Barbara nodded understandingly, and turned back to watch the sky. The blue hues were finally settling in, and the pinks and oranges were fading away.

And so that night, on top of the tallest building in Gotham, both Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon had said,_ good night_, to the sun – it was their last time.

-.-

Her first encounter with the Teen Titans was three years after the invasion – or four years ago from now. She was sixteen then.

Superman's sidekick, a boy with wild brown hair that was possibly related to either the Flash or Kid Flash due to his speed, an older hero with robotic parts, and a girl named Raven were there. The boy who called her that…He looked like Robin.

Much to Barbara's disappointment, he wasn't _her_ Robin. He didn't look like how she remembered him, and his costume was different; not to mention he was too young. In fact, she was told by a few civilians – they had escaped the shelters with her upon the arrival of the aliens and the Titans – that his name was _Red Robin_.

She had merely nodded in response and gulped, feeling her face warm up considerably fast and a tremor in her arms and legs. She _knew_ for a fact that heroes took up their mentor's mantle once the original was gone.

But Barbara refused to stop her search for the first Robin.

Instead, she told herself that the Titans were too occupied with protecting them to tell her if the original Robin was alive or not. She continued her search for Dick Grayson.

-.-

She tries not to nick her finger for the third time that night, as she angles the blade enough to cut her fingernails.

The knife had been used to kill someone once, not by her hands, of course, but from a criminal's. Barbara had just stumbled upon it when she was rummaging through the body some years ago, clothed in a neon orange jumpsuit, to find some food or any other necessities; there are still specks of blood imprinted on its handle from when she came across it.

The knife comes in handy for killing rodents. Barbara has tried their meat once, but it didn't sit well with her stomach, so really, it kills rodents that are used as bait for other (edible) animals, or for trading inside the shelters for other items. It's also used to keep her hair short, so that the strands of auburn wouldn't get in the way when she ran.

"You're quite talented with a blade," a woman suddenly says, causing Barbara's hand to jerk; luckily the knife goes off course and doesn't hit any flesh.

The stranger takes her mask off and Barbara catches a glimpse of a grinning cat. She's Asian, with a smirk printed on her features. But Barbara scowls in response, taking note of the large backpack on the woman in front of her – she doesn't want to know what is in there.

The woman's skin is marred by pale lines of pink that visibly runs from the nape of her neck down to her arms. She seems overly confident to have started a conversation with another person in an alleyway.

The redhead gets up to her feet, ready to pounce or run – whichever is necessary. It has been approximately four months since anyone has talked to Barbara freely, and the last one ended up doubling his age and flying into the skies. She secretly hopes that this one might fly too, and not bare its fangs or suddenly grow claws and scales – she shudders at the thought.

"Here," the stranger says, extending her arm.

The action causes Barbara to take a leap backwards, but when she notices that the woman, strangely amused by the whole ordeal, not budging from her position, she moves her eyes downwards and back up as quickly as possible.

"What is that?" Barbara asks.

The smile on the woman's face reminds her of the one fairy tale character she had read as a child – the Cheshire cat.

"It's a dagger," the woman says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world; there is a hint of amusement in her voice.

But Barbara isn't convinced until the stranger unsheathes it, revealing the metallic shine in the moon's light.

"It might be more useful to you," the woman holds it sideways so that she can look at her own reflection, "than to me. It's much sharper than your dull thing anyway."

"Keep it," Barbara replies with venom in her voice, "I don't take anything from anyone unless they're dying or dead." She makes no attempt to turn around and run, knowing never to turn her back on a person regardless of how human they looked. Not until they take their sights off Barbara first, at least.

The woman scoffs. "If you haven't noticed, I _am_ dying." She, in her kimono-like garments, steps into the moonlight to reveal a large wound on her abdomen. It looks like it has been treated for; Barbara can see the bandages through the ripped clothing. However, the blood is soaking through the white cloths, and is a shade of ugly purple; this woman, with the Cheshire mask, is poisoned.

"Still no," Barbara says, stepping back a few steps.

The stranger smirks again, seemingly entertained and satisfied with Barbara's response. She turns around and Barbara knows that she's in deep trouble because she can see something _move_ inside the woman's backpack.

"Suit yourself," she purrs and with that, the woman clad in green leaps off.

The voice of paranoia in Barbara's head tells her to move to a different location, which she does. She just hopes that the Asian woman wouldn't be able to find her again.

-.-

Barbara wakes up the next day, finding the knife that the woman had offered the night prior, sitting next to her body, along with a redheaded infant, and a birth certificate that reads: _Lian Nguyen-Harper_.

"What is…What the hell?!" Barbara shoots herself up, and looks around for any witnesses; there are none. The only people in the alleyway that morning are her and the baby named Lian. She looks back down at the infant, who appears to have just woken up, searching desperately for her mother.

Barbara sighs and gently picks Lian up.

Dick would've told her to take care of the baby, not because it was the right thing to do (even though it is), but because if she hadn't, the human race's redheaded population would die out, and Dick wouldn't have approved of that.

As far as Barbara could tell, Dick better be alive.

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tbc


	2. you were just a boy

**By**: Xmarksthespot  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own any copyrighted material, including works that belong to the Young Justice cartoon and DC comics.  
**Notes**: Written during the summer time, pre-Invasion hiatus. **Clone!Roy and Original!Roy are _one and the same_** in this fic.

Please review at the end of the chapter! I spent a very long time with this story and would appreciate it if you took a few extra seconds to provide some feedback or comments!

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**Just an Ordinary Day**

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Barbara is kicked out of three different shelters within two days due to Lian's cries, and she regrets _not_ leaving the baby on the streets the moment she discovers her.

She salvages any type of cloths she can find in the abandoned department stores, though by now, they are almost all empty. But Lian _wants_ breast milk and her mother's arms – none of which Barbara can provide her with. She does what she can though and grabs as many out-dated baby formula containers as can find.

The now-adult woman stops considering taking things from stores as stealing a long time ago, back when the storeowners began deserting their businesses, leaving their goods to anyone who could find them.

There was one time Barbara had slept in someone's apartment in Gotham though, and it took her at least two hours of staring at the homeowner's belongings before she had the guts to put them all into her carryon bag.

She remembers seeing a business card with the name _S. Kyle_ on it, and had stumbled upon _several_ rare artifacts–they were useless to Barbara and were _definitely_ stolen from the museums and jewelry stores. As well, there were black leather jumpsuits; all of which were the only items that weren't covered in cat hair. Taking those suits and the gadgets it came with was the only time Barbara yelled at herself for stealing. After that, it became second nature.

But Lian becomes a hassle very quickly, and Barbara feels guilty for wanting someone to just _steal_ Lian away from her the same way she had taken those suits.

Oddly, she doesn't cry when Barbara runs into the middle of a street fight, and doesn't even visualize the fight for very long, but the sight of two people brawling for a few seconds sends _giggling_ fits. Of course, that isn't very normal for a child, leading the crowd to believe that Barbara is _one of them_.

Needless to say, Barbara is _very_ thankful they don't have guns on their body.

-.-

There are three times in Barbara's life when she feels like every emotion contained in her body is about to burst out like a volcanic eruption.

The first time was when, on their way to the movie theatres, Gotham's buildings began to explode. Dick had immediately shielded Barbara from any debris flying their way. He grabbed onto her arm and dragged her away, seemingly fearless and experienced. Barbara's worst fear, at that point, was losing his grip around her hand.

He did just that, but purposely. Letting go of her hand as he pushed her into Jim Gordon's arms the moment the cop got out of his car, and ran back towards the explosion, claiming he'd be okay. Her father wouldn't let her chase after him, and she regretted not doing so, because the city became a war zone soon after. At the thought of her best friend being in the middle of it all, Barbara wanted to scream and cry at the world. It was the last time she ever saw Dick.

The second time was less than a year after the Justice League disappeared, and the alien population multiplied. Jim Gordon had acted more differently than normal, and Barbara saw the gaping hole in his stomach where the creature had crawled through, puppeteering her dad's movements. The realization that her dad had been dead for some time had sent her through a fit of rage, angering her enough to grab the gun from his holster and making sure that the alien who had the _nerve_ of digging through her father's flesh and bones was dead.

_This_ is the third time. A gun held to her head by a masked vigilante, all because Lian had started to laugh at the sight of the _Outlaws_ defending the streets from another attack. The cool, metallic barrel is just a hair away from her temple.

Barbara had been hiding, knowing that the red masked man, the orange-skinned alien, and the one armed redhead would stop the beasts in time – she was right about that.

But Lian's laughter proved to be a lot more disastrous than Barbara thought, because the next thing she knew, the redhead with a bow and arrow strapped together on his back, had loaded his weapon next to her head.

"Arsenal!" The orange-skinned girl calls, flying towards him and Barbara.

Barbara's chest begins beating erratically, and she bites her lips until she can taste blood. With sweaty palms, she raises one arm into the air to prove her innocence, as the other is still holding onto Lian. Her throat feels dry, and it takes her a good forty seconds before she is able to uncover her voice; luckily, her heart doesn't give out before then.

Lian squirming in her arms doesn't help either; the infant is keen on reaching out to grab Arsenal's arm. Barbara tries to hold her in place, and succeeds, luckily. She inwardly prays that the vigilantes wouldn't hurt her or Lian.

Then, after clearing her throat, Barbara hesitantly breathes out, "G-Green Arrow…"

Arsenal's face seems to soften somewhat in surprise, but he furrows his brows again, keeping his hand steady around the gun. "What?!" He spits out.

"Green Arrow…The password for this week. I-I'm not one of them…" Barbara says in between short breaths. She rolls her eyes upwards at the never-ending sky, instead of directly at Arsenal and his band of misfits.

In her head, she recalls every word her father had told her, which usually eases her heart from beating on rapid fire, every lame joke Dick had told her that she still laughs to whenever she thinks about them, everything she _still_ has to do while she is alive; Barbara tries not to notice the fact that her life is dangling in front of a gun like fish bait.

In the corner of her eyes, she can see Arsenal frown, looking at his target once and then back down towards the baby – he seems a bit off when he looks at Lian, but regains his confidence. He is about to say something when another figure – the red masked man – appears.

"The fuck, Roy! I told you to fucking learn how to use a gun, not to use humans as target practice. Get your fucking head checked when we leave," the man snorts, pulling Arsenal's arm down and away from Barbara. He turns and looks around him, first at his team and then at Barbara and Lian – unlike Arsenal, he seems almost fixated on Barbara rather than the baby, as if trying to recall who she is, but promptly ignores any thoughts. Instead, he says: "So many fucking redheads, damn it – I'm out of here."

But before Barbara can breathe a sigh of relief, the one-armed man seethes at her.

"If I hear that you _really_ are one of them, I'll make sure you won't be the one who's laughing," he growls before following after his team.

Barbara is too focused on the missing feeling in her legs to say anything back to him.

-.-

Lian gurgles out incoherent sounds as Barbara tries to spoon feed the child with some porridge that is provided at the shelter. She is a happy baby, ignorant of what is going on around her, and although it was her giggles that landed Barbara in heaps of trouble in the past few months, the young adult has grown to adore the baby.

However, the older woman knows that their false mother-daughter relationship has to come to an end eventually. She refuses the thought of seeing Lian grow up alongside her; it almost terrifies her at the thought of watching someone close to her die again. She would rather Lian die someplace else without her knowing. Barbara also knows this is why she never asks anyone if they know of Robin's status.

Ever since her encounter with the Titans and Red Robin years ago, she has firmly told herself of this. She would rather travel the world all her life, filled with hope that Dick is alive and oblivious of his death, than to go through the easy route and learn from his fellow comrades that he has been dead since the beginning.

Which is why, at the sight of the blonde ponytail, Barbara runs after the masked vigilante. _Artemis Crock_, Barbara recognizes immediately, the moment the woman pulls off her tiger-faced mask in a dark corner of an alleyway. She was two years her senior back in high school, and Barbara had hung out with her on occasion during lunch hours with Bette Kane and Dick.

In fact, Dick had told her once that he admired Crock for all her strength – Barbara never understood what he meant, at least, not until now. But Artemis had always been a good person – she was spunky, and laughed at all of the good jokes. Barbara liked her back then, and the voice in her head tells her that had there not been an attack on Earth, the two would've stayed friends, even until now. She just hopes her intuition is right, because the fact that Artemis has a crossbow in hand means she is trouble; it's her strange costume and mask that hints she's one of the good guys.

Looking down at Lian's peaceful sleeping state one last time, Barbara gulps. It has been years since she last approached someone willingly outside of a shelter, but taking care of a baby isn't something she can do at that moment.

Barbara likes to think that she is doing this for Lian's sake, that giving her up would increase the infant's chances of survival, but the voice in her head tells her she's just being selfish, because without Lian, the chances of survival for _Barbara_ would increase and therefore, the chances of finding Dick is greater.

"Hey!" Barbara calls and runs up to the blonde; she is met with an arrow pointed directly at her. She holds up her free hand in defense and stops all movement. Barbara knows to wait until Artemis approaches her herself before saying anything.

"What do you want?" Artemis asks then swiftly looks around the area to search for any sights of Kroloteans.

She pulls the sling off of her shoulder and slowly lifts Lian towards Artemis, who staggers at the sight of something being passed towards her. "Please take her," Barbara pleads.

"Look, there's a shelter over there for single mothers and –"

"The baby's not mine, Artemis," Barbara says. Her fingers, nevertheless, tighten around Lian protectively, but she keeps her stare straight at the blonde. The look on the archer's face indicates that she doesn't recognize who Barbara is, not that Barbara blames her, of course – they had only met a few times before, and to Artemis, the redhead was technically only a preteen at the time of their encounter – she can only assume that she looks completely different now as an adult.

Artemis seems even more skeptical since a stranger knows her identity without her knowing theirs. However, she remains still and hears Barbara say, "Some girl with a mask dropped her on me, and I _can't_ keep her alive at this rate. I figure her mother's one of you, with all the masks."

Artemis sighs, seeming like she pitied Barbara's state. "Lots of people have masks these days– some of them aren't even associated with us. I don't –"

"The woman had an Alice in Wonderland mask," Barbara states, hoping it was something.

It is. The look she receives on Artemis' face indicates that the blonde knew exactly who she's referring to.

"...A cat – a _Cheshire_ cat mask?"

Barbara nods.

"Are you sure?" The arms that hold strung the bow and arrow drop hesitantly.

"Her name's Lian Nguyen-Harper – the baby. And yes, I'm sure."

"And Cheshire is…"

Barbara shrugs and slowly shakes her head; she never takes her sight off Artemis, nor does she release her grip around the baby's sling. "I haven't seen her since our encounter months ago when she dropped her baby on me. She looked poisoned – I don't think she…" Her voice dies. On a planet with so little people left, hearing that your only source of companionship is dead is one of the worse things in the world to hear. And based on the blonde's reaction, they were somehow close to one another.

Artemis is very still for a long time, attempting at soaking in the newfound information. Finally, she exhales and steps forward; she is a few feet away from Lian, still sleeping in her sling that rests in Barbara's arms.

"Nguyen-Harper, huh?" There is a hint of familiarity in the hero's voice.

Barbara tries to ignore the shine in Artemis' eyes as she repeats the name. She says, "I have her birth certificate too. And her mom's dagger. I'd think she'd want that one day – as a keepsake. I don't need it, I have my own knife."

Truthfully, the blade is much more handier than the small knife Barbara owns, but the redhead figures that in all her selfishness of giving Lian up to a stranger (luckily to someone who seems to know her family), she might as well return the item that had once belonged to the child's mother. Besides, if Barbara had a chance to keep something that reminded her of her own parents, she would take it.

Artemis nods and accepts the items from the redhead. "I'll take her with me, then." The blonde does a quick scan of Barbara again, as if trying to figure out who she is, but never asks. Instead, she puts the sling around her shoulder, supporting the baby as she does so, places her tiger mask back on, and leaps away.

The lump in Barbara's throat forms again the moment Artemis takes off with Lian and her face grows hot. The feeling is almost foreign, because of how long it's been since she had lost someone she genuinely cared for. It isn't until Lian is completely gone from her sights that Barbara realizes _Lian_ had made her feel almost human again, regardless of how much trouble she had caused – that caring for the infant made her feel_ needed_ and _necessary_ on this planet because she depended on Barbara in order to survive. It was Lian who kept Barbara's nightmares away, because for once, Barbara wasn't by herself.

But now, once again, Barbara is alone in the world.

She refuses to cry; she merely moves forward.

-.-

Two weeks later, Barbara finds a tree, still standing tall in a forest of death, like a skyscraper in the middle of a deserted island. She smiles and continues walking.

-.-

Robin blew up before her eyes.

Robin, the Boy Wonder, was caught in the crossfire of the alien invasion.

Robin, whose mask was slipping off during his fight with the invaders, turned around and gave an assuring grin, as if he could see Barbara sitting in the back of her father's car, knowing that she was staring right back. Then the harsh wind that arrived along with the landing spaceships tore the mask right off.

Millions of people died that day in the explosion that reduced Gotham City to a landfill.

Barbara _knows_ Dick isn't one of them.

-.-

They call her Batgirl – the people of this unnamed city.

It isn't Barbara's intention to become a vigilante – a masked _hero_. The leather suit she had stolen from _S. Kyle_'s apartment years ago is finally a perfect fit, and Barbara needs to wear _something_ because most of her clothes are torn, bloodied, and stinking from Lian's throw up from months ago. The snug outfit seems to be quite effective as well, considering it allows better movement on Barbara's part, and is a lot more durable than all of the other clothes she had taken from shopping centers.

But upon arrival to that city, approximately four months after leaving Lian with Artemis, Barbara is suddenly reminded of Gotham again. She's somewhat convinced that this _is_ Gotham, and that she has just traveled across the country only to go back into a full circle – there are no road signs, so she can't be sure. It's the crime rate that reminds her of home.

Every man for himself, Barbara reminds herself, but is quickly appalled when she witnesses an attempted rape just moments after seeing someone else forcefully take food from a shelter. She prevents the rape, of course, and it's after knocking the attacker out – a fully grown man – that she realizes how strong she has gotten over the years.

Seeing these attacks on the innocent four more times that night encourages her to _do something_ for once. And it must have been the black outfit, or perhaps the crazy moves that she had learned, not only from self defense training as a kid, but from protecting herself throughout the years, that made a witness – a young teenage boy – cry out, "Batman! Batman's back!"

Of course, he is disappointed when he notices that Barbara is _not_ a Justice League member, nor a man, but it doesn't take long before his optimism appears again. "…Are you Batman's sidekick? Are you here to stop the bad guys?"

Barbara nods, lying through her actions, before running off. She chuckles as she runs. _Batman's sidekick, huh, _she thinks, _Dick would've been furious at being referred to as a mere sidekick_.

She runs into a deserted alleyway, where she manages to find an empty dumpster, which is her next sleeping arrangement.

However, the thought of Dick and the boy from earlier that afternoon doesn't leave Barbara's mind so easily. The adrenaline rush she had felt each time she saved someone that day reminds her of the first year or so, when she was with her father. The two would try to help out as many people as they could, and although Barbara attempted to continue on that tradition sometime after her father died, she couldn't do it. But adrenaline is addicting, and Barbara finds herself waking in the middle of the night craving for it again. It makes her feel more _alive_, and she hasn't felt that since she was with Lian.

And so, digging through her carryon bag again, she uncovers the cat-like mask that came with the suit. It's definitely clear that _S. Kyle_, the woman whose apartment Barbara had robbed, was Catwoman. No doubt about it.

Then, with some bright coloured cloths that she has salvaged, Barbara begins cutting away at it into a bat symbol, using the tools she carries on her to stich it up onto her top.

That night, Batgirl is born and two things are apparent: that protecting these citizens from harm and ignoring the _"every man for himself" _rule that she has been following blindly for several years is the best feeling in the world, and that donning an outfit with a bat symbol makes her feel that much closer to finding Dick.

-.-

Had Barbara gotten the opportunity to go to college, she most likely would've majored in computer science. At least, that's what she liked to believe now. It was either that or criminology or law. But fantasies aside, over the next several weeks, when Batgirl patrols the streets and protects victims – she is sometimes paid in canned foods or dried meat by the civilians – she learns how much potential she would have had. In fact, she probably could've been a superhero alongside Dick, had she the chance.

She clearly has a knack with technology. Using the hard drives and wires she took apart from old laptops and machinery, she replicates the exploding Bat-weapons that The Batman was rumoured to carry around. That, along with the gun powder and chemical waste that are in the stray barrels at the shelter come in handy when a lone Krolotean tries to attack a group of people.

It's when all of its friends come, that Batgirl knows she is in trouble. She only has a limited supply of explosives, and it takes at least four or five to cut through alien skin. She may be strong, but it isn't enough to take on a group of them. The adrenaline rush is quickly overcome by fear, and Batgirl begins to doubt her skills.

_Robin wouldn't have doubted himself_, she thinks. Barbara looks back down at her targets and takes a deep breath.

She jumps at them from her position on the balcony, ignoring her sweaty palms and inconsistent heart beats, and onto the back of one of the aliens. It thrashes her around like a mechanical bull, but Batgirl holds onto its horns tightly. Attaching a device onto its back, she flips away from the creature before its friends can attack her – they hit the alien she was just sitting on instead. The attack causes the planted device to explode; it blows up the creature it was planted on. The others are blown away by the impact, but they still get up in the end.

Unfortunately, it's the last of her weapons. Batgirl's only option is to turn to firearms, or perhaps lead it somewhere far.

That is, before a flash of red zooms by, circling around the Kroloteans faster than Batgirl can ever imagine; several discs are shot at them from afar as they are distracted by the blur, and the discs explode upon contact. The tornado's speed dies down to reveal a man in a familiar red and yellow costume, and out of nowhere, leaps out another man donning a dark outfit with a cerulean blue bird symbolised on his chest.

"Hey," the man in the dark suit says. He gets up from his crouched position on the ground, first staring at the defeated alien monsters and then turns his neck to face Batgirl. With a flashy grin, he speaks again, "Those were some nice moves back there – _very_ asterous."

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tbc


	3. But you were mine

**By**: Xmarksthespot  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own any copyrighted material, including works that belong to the Young Justice cartoon and DC comics.  
**Notes**: Written during the summer time, pre-Invasion hiatus. And please keep reviews PG-13!**  
**

Please review at the end of the chapter! I spent a very long time with this story and would appreciate it if you took a few extra seconds to provide some feedback or comments!

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**Just an Ordinary Day**

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"Might as well kill yer selves – none's gonna survive this," said a man, possibly in his late forties.

On the second night of being Batgirl, before the two heroes had appeared her life, this man had told a group of children whom Batgirl had saved, that their lives were meaningless. He spoke with a slurred speech. A bottle kissed his lips soon after. "T's why I'm drinkin' myself – might as well go off fashion-erbly."

Batgirl frowned – she might have been tempted to in the past, but would never have destroyed someone's hopes like that, especially children's.

"I'm looking for my best friend," Batgirl said unexpectedly, as she hadn't anticipated on really talking that night. In fact, her plan was to save the children and go back to her hideout for dinner. This caught the man's and children's attention, and she gulped at the sight of their questionable eyes. "It's why I'm traveling around."

The man snorted. "Hah! G'luck, lil' lady. Nothin's survivin' out der. Ev'n if he _is_ alive – and lemme tell yer, he _isn't_ – nothin's gonna change once you find-im. Just gonna betray you once the opper-tun-ty arises."

This angered Batgirl more than anything, and she took a step forward towards the man. "He _is_ alive," she said with a pointed finger towards him, "and there _is_ a way out of this. It might take years before things are back to normal again, but it _will_ happen, so don't you _dare_ tell these kids any differently," Batgirl said with a tone of confidence she hadn't had in a long time. It seemed foreign, unfathomable almost, that she could be so strong, but it was what he said about Dick that drove her to do so.

Before she left the shelter, almost wishing she could take the kids away from the alcoholic, she turned. "Besides," she said, "Seeing him every day will be a good enough reason to be alive."

-.-

"So who are you supposed to be? Catgirl? Catlass? Miss Kitty?" Asks the dark haired man; he grins again, and it gets on Batgirl's nerves that he is smiling so soon after a battle.

"It's Batgirl – you'd notice if you saw the symbol," she says, thumb pointing towards the bat insignia on her bodice, "but I guess only certain type of guys focus on my head first, rather than my chest."

"Nightwing," he introduces himself, then: "Nice to meet you." He nods his head over to the man clad in red, approaching them at a much slower pace than he was moving at earlier, "That's the Flash." The man turns back to her, and smirks. "And sorry, I didn't realize there was a chest there."

Batgirl's mouth opens, offended and makes a playful move to punch the taller hero when he grabs her wrist and prevents her from doing so. It doesn't surprise her though – she was expecting it – and she pulls the corner of her lips up. "Not too shabby, _Nightwing_," she compliments, and draws her arm away from him; he obligingly lets go.

Nightwing's smile grows and he leans his face in towards her. "You're not so bad yourself, _Batgirl_."

"Geeze, Wing, fifteen minutes and you already got yourself a girlfriend. New record?" the Flash says suddenly, causing his partner to take a step back from her.

"Flash, this is Batgirl."

Flash's mouth widens in amusement. "Batman's got a fangirl? _Nice_."

-.-

"So I'll just make sure this area's clean…"

"…was supposed to get a call from Art…"

"Just go, dude. I'll be alright. Got _Batgirl_ to back me up if anything happens."

"…You sure about her?"

"I'll be fine – come on, Bat's paranoia is rubbing off on you, and you know that's _my_ thing."

Batgirl stands on the side, watching the pair; they are a few feet away from her, conversing as if she doesn't exist, like being in the middle of the streets in broad daylight is the most casual thing to do nowadays.

She would've left a long time ago, since she never planned on having friends, especially in her _current_ getup, but the man – Nightwing – had asked her to stay for a while longer. Her feet listened and planted themselves onto the cement, ignoring every red flag that was going on in her mind. He was charming and alluring, that was for sure.

"I'll check up on Tigress first then – be back in a flash!"

"Be careful, Walls," Batgirl hears Nightwing mutter, but pretends to have not heard him. She figures that that nickname, _Walls_, is reserved for their relationship only – whatever that may be.

The moment Flash races off in a different direction, Batgirl straightens and meets with Nightwing face to face. She is expecting a grueling lecture, maybe an interrogation from an experienced hero as to her purpose there or her newfound hobby, but instead, he combs his fingers through his hair and laughs.

"So…" he starts sheepishly, "how do you feel about dinner?"

-.-

It's raining when Nightwing gives Batgirl half of his share of preserved meat. She sits on a smooth block of cement underneath an old bridge, which Nightwing had chosen for her so that she wouldn't get wet – "Wow, a gentleman; you don't find many of those nowadays," Batgirl had said.

She takes her time with the food, still eyeing Nightwing suspiciously – he had finished his dinner and is now watching the rain wash away the blood and dirt on the pavement. They have been silent for the past twenty or so minutes, with only the sound of chewing filling the air, and maybe a voice or two from a distance in the nearby shelters.

When she finishes, she decides it is appropriate to break the tension. "That was…good. Thanks."

Without turning to face her, Nightwing replies, "It should be – fried Kroloteans."

The heroine almost gags, and slaps a palm onto her chest to prevent herself from throwing it all back up. Shooting her head to face him, she yells, "_What_?!"

Nightwing remains calm though. "Yeah, you know… we just figured that we might as well get back at them for trying to feast on our flesh. Tasty right?" He grins and if there hadn't been a mask covering his eyes, he probably would have winked at her.

His comical face washes away all the panic Batgirl had been feeling. She rolls her eyes. "Oh God," she mutters, receiving another laugh from him.

"You should've seen what happened when I told the Flash that back when he was Kid Flash – he was in the middle of scarfing all of this down. What I saw happen next was disgusting…heavy on the dis."

She freezes, wrinkling her brows at the last statement. Batgirl looks back at Nightwing curiously, trying to remember where she heard that before – _heavy on the dis_. It isn't like her to forget something so easily, with a photographic memory and all, and she could hear it being spoken clearly in her mind, but no face associated with it. She remains still until he speaks up again; the thought suddenly flies away.

"So what made you become Batgirl anyway? You _are_ new to the superhero gig, right? I haven't seen you around these parks before."

Batgirl glances at him and opens her mouth slightly, entertaining the idea of sharing her goals with him, but even if she can't see Nightwing's eyes, there's something about the man that invites her trust.

She compliantly talks. "I didn't really plan on it. Just wore this outfit while running around and this kid thought I was Batman…He looked pretty hopeful when he thought I was one of his sidekicks, so I ended up stitching the bat on and adding some ears," she pauses, and glances at the silhouettes of the rundown skyscrapers from afar, "I was actually just looking for an old friend of mine… I haven't seen him since the invasion."

Nightwing doesn't respond right away, still taking his time to soak in the information, but then he asks, "Boyfriend?"

She smiles, relieved that he's one of the rare few who didn't try to shoot her down by saying that Dick probably didn't survive – he seems hopeful, rather, like he could believe in anything. It eases her.

"No, best friend. I think he had a girlfriend at the time anyway."

"Really?" His eyebrows rise above the edges of the mask.

"You sound surprised."

"Uh well…you're, you know, attractive, and uh…" He blushes.

She gives a laugh at the sight – a real, genuine laugh. She feels reminiscent as there are vibrations from her throat to her chest, almost like riding a bicycle – back in the old days – for the first time in the spring after months of snow in winter; she hadn't forgotten how, but the sensation felt wonderful. She hides her mouth behind her hand, but the crinkle of her eyes behind the mask and the raised cheekbones indicates that she is still amused.

"You're not so bad yourself," she says.

Nightwing beams. "I know, I know. I'm a hunk."

Batgirl rolls her eyes once more, but lets out another soft giggle nevertheless.

The two turn away from each other, facing the cloudy skies in peace. The rain eventually dies out, as does their conversation, and the sun peaks through the clouds before disappearing underneath the horizon line.

For Batgirl, she is anticipating the moment Nightwing decides to leave, so that she would be alone in the world again, but even after she had said goodbye to the sun that evening, a hobby she shared with Dick, and now with this stranger, he never leaves.

After some careful consideration, she finally gulps and starts another topic, "So…the Justice League…"

Nightwing shakes his head before she can finish. His Adam's apple bobs up and down before he replies, "I don't know. There's still some left, but the rest… Haven't even heard from Batman in years. Technically, _I'm_ supposed to be in his uniform and all, you know, give people hope that their hero is still around, but instead, I made a new identity. I just…Couldn't put on the uniform," he admits.

In the midst of the next set of silence, Batgirl curses at herself for bringing it up, since it seemed to have torn away the happy expression on Nightwing and replace it with sorrow

Suddenly, he gets up and walks away.

"Might as well get some shuteye," Nightwing says with a sigh, and it evens out the panicked breaths Batgirl didn't know she was having. "I promised Flash I'd check up on the city, but that usually works best when neither of us is sleep deprived, right?"

Batgirl nods quietly, following suit as she seats herself across from him. She's still quite suspicious of him, unsure of his motive. Years of paranoia would explain that. There aren't many people around who would put trust in others so easily these days, but all of the ones she'd met so far – with the exception of the Outlaws – have turned out to be superheroes or of the same relation. Dropping her shoulders from their tense state, she leaves her mask on and shuts her eyes.

"Hey," Nightwing calls out, and Batgirl lifts her eyelids again, waiting patiently for him to speak.

"I hope you find your friend."

Batgirl smiles, closing her eyes once more; she anticipates for the dreams of finding Robin to appear.

"Thank you."

-.-

Batgirl looks up at the smoky sky, and claps her hands together, the tips of her fingertips just at the end of her chin.

"Hmm…If I could do anything I wanted to right now…I'd go to the roof of the tallest building in the city and watch the sunset."

"Really?" Nightwing seems surprise, turning his head from side to side before leaping into the next set of shadows. He canvases half the city this morning, along with Batgirl, and looks thankful that nothing seems out of the loop.

"Yeah, how about you?" She asks, following behind him.

"Huh…" He hums, dragging out the syllable, "I'd go to the circus. It's nice hearing kids laugh and families having a good time – kinda miss the clowns too, believe it or not."

Batgirl stops walking, and a clear image of Dick Grayson hanging from a chandelier above her head comes to mind. She almost laughs at the memory.

"Hey, you coming?" Nightwing calls out.

She looks back up, noting how far he has gotten away from her in such a short period of time. She chases after him, shortening the gap in between them and snapping the image of Dick away.

"Yeah…" she tells him, "The circus sounds nice. I think I would want to go to one too."

-.-

"You really have that intimidation thing worked out, don't you?" Batgirl muses.

She and Nightwing prevent several crimes amongst the civilians that afternoon, and the latter manages to scare the thugs enough for them to wet their pants. It's quite shocking for Batgirl who had thought Nightwing was all fun and games for a brief amount of time.

"Yeah well, if you had Batman breathe down yours and your team's neck for years, some things are certain to rub off on you," Nightwing says. "I'm more of a heights person though – would rather hang a person off of a cliff and threaten them than do that deep, growly voice that Batman did. Tried it a few times though, and it hurt my throat after."

Batgirl laughs and continues to walk alongside him like she had been doing all day. "Maybe I should start working on my glares then. Or find something equally scary – you know this suit came with a whip? Shame I lost it a few years ago."

The man stops mid-chuckle and gives her a questioning look. "A whip? _Where_ exactly did you get this suit – wait, don't answer that. I don't want to know."

"In your dreams, Wing-nut," Batgirl teases, "I found this in someone's apartment back home. Pretty sure it was Catwoman's place. I – Nightwing?" She turns to face him; he looks shocked.

"You're from Gotham?" He asks.

Batgirl nods.

Nightwing chortles. "Small world," he says, "so am I."

She raises one of her eyebrows, now curious as to who this man is – and if he _knows_ Dick or Robin personally. In fact, at this point, she feels really close to finding her best friend – so close, she could already imagine how her conversation with Dick would play out. But then her palms grow clammy and her throat dries up with anxiousness; it becomes difficult to breathe.

Batgirl shakes the idea away, literally shaking her head at the thought. Looking up at the pink and orange sky, the one that she and Dick used to watch, Batgirl sighs. She wants to see Dick for herself, she reminds her brain. Not to have a stranger give her the answer. And so, she shrugs and continues to walk ahead.

Nightwing runs up after her. "Hey, you know, there's something I wanted to show you today."

Skeptically, Batgirl crosses her arms. "Oh, _really_? This wouldn't happen to be another fried Krolotean, would it?"

He tilts his head to the side and gives her a look that says: _please, like I would pull off that joke again_. But instead of saying anything, he marches pass her. He doesn't bother to wait for her to agree on it; he's expecting her to follow along, which she grudgingly does in the end.

It takes them almost an hour and an obstacle course around the city before they reach their destination. She's reluctant to follow him inside of a building, and so he shows her an alternative route. He wraps his arm around her waist, and raises an arm, shooting a grappling hook into the air to hoist them upwards. When they get to the rooftop, he grins at her.

Batgirl's still confused, however. "What's the surprise?"

"This. It's the tallest building in the city – not as tall as they used to be and definitely not as comparable as the ones back in Gotham, but we're still pretty high up. It's what you wanted right? To watch the sunset on the roof of the tallest building?"

Batgirl looks at Nightwing in astonishment, but says nothing. She turns out to the horizon, breathing in the clean air – she feels nauseated at first, but grows accustomed to it quickly; it's different from the smell of rotting corpses, or the smell of an alleyway…It smells familiar as a rush of nostalgia runs through her body. Before, she would've demanded to go back into the world of dead bodies and gun powder, but the entire experience of being at the top of a building and staring at the sunset soothes her nostrils enough to let them behave.

She stands at the edge of the roof, studying the hues of rose and tangerine clouds that are slowly blending into the darker night sky. She's startled once or twice in the middle of all this; the tips of her fingertips can feel Nightwing's hand every so often, and she knows he is hesitating to reach for hers, but she makes no movement for his either. They are still strangers, technically, maybe closer to friends than anything, but she isn't ready for his hand yet.

"Hey, come back with me."

The sunset is promptly ignored and Batgirl whips her head to the side. "What?"

"We have a hideout, where people like you and I come to stay – people who don't give up," Nightwing explains. "You should come back with me."

Batgirl is silent at first, and then musters up the courage to ask: "And what makes you think I'm not going to give up?"

"You wouldn't be dressed up as a bat if you were," he says with a cheeky grin.

She nods, and for the first time in seven years, Barbara Gordon feels safe.

-.-

"Ladies first," Nightwing offers, and passes her his grappling hook. He's teaching her the mechanics of his weapons and Batgirl knows it isn't his first time mentoring someone.

"You really are one of the few gentlemen around," she says and swings to the next rooftop.

The two leave the city they had met in, now journeying to wherever Nightwing's home base is.

Batgirl feels safer sleeping outside in the summer air than she did in the shelters, and she often goes with him when he offers to go find them some food – "For my sake, I _need_ to know what I ate wasn't really an alien."

She stares at the stars while sitting next to him that night and mentally checks off number eleven on her bucket list.

It was a list of things to do before she died, back when she was still living in Gotham. A compilation of everything that a thirteen year old wanted to accomplish in her lifetime, however long or short it may be.

The first was to make it onto the Olympics for her gymnastics. The second was to go to a university for Law. Third was to make sure her dad had enough funds to retire properly and happily. Unfortunately, many of her top ten wishes were cut short almost a decade ago. But on these nights, when she and Nightwing end their city patrol early, she would mentally check of number eleven and recently, number fourteen: to do nothing all night but laugh with her closest friend – though at the moment, her _only_ friend – by a campfire.

"You better not be peeping," she warns from afar the next morning, changing into a cleaner set of clothes. "Or I'll have to kick that cute butt of yours into some alien territory." Even from a distance, she hears him laugh and reply.

"I'd like to see you try, BG."

She feels refreshed in her new uniform, glad to have taken more than one suit from _S. Kyle_'s wardrobe. However, when she catches Nightwing staring at her, she crosses her arms. "Something interesting about my chest, _Hunk_?"

He snaps out of his daze and scratches the back of his head. "Well, the bat is missing for one," he explains, pointing out the fact that Batgirl hadn't stitched the logo onto the other uniforms.

Batgirl shrugs and picks up her carryon bag, ready for another journey. "I'll stitch one on during our next break. We should start heading out."

Nightwing nods, and starts to lead Batgirl to the other side of the city. "We should be a day or two away from –"

There's a large gust of wind that almost tore Batgirl and Nightwing off of their spots from the ground, and a deafening roar of propellers and machines.

Batgirl looks up, and as déjà vu would have it, she sees a team of large alien spacecrafts approaching them. But before she can react, she witnesses the pained expression on Nightwing's face; it's hardened and cold, one that she hasn't seen before in the past few weeks of traveling with him. It's the same look Dick had before he pulled her away from the danger zone and leaving her with her dad.

The rock sitting in her throat passes through because Batgirl is finally able to gulp. The sudden visualization of Dick sends her expression wide-eyed, and she turns to Nightwing. "You are _not_ leaving me here," she demands, cracking through his serious expression. _Not like Dick did_, she inwardly adds.

He nods and tosses her some items hidden in the compartments of his suit. "You'll need these. Don't worry about me – this costume carries more than you think it does." He smirks.

Batgirl catches the weapons and lets out a sharp exhale. She turns to Nightwing – her friend and mentor – for guidance and a confidence boost, and then zones out the sounds of screaming civilians in the background for a moment, licking her lips.

"Ready to kick some alien butt?" Nightwing asks.

"You betcha, Hunk Wonder," she breathes out, quickly registering the fact that she had combined her nickname for him – Hunk – and the media's nickname for _Robin_ – the Boy Wonder – together. It takes Batgirl a whole second before she realizes she had somehow associated Nightwing with _her_ Robin, and is flustered at the thought. But it clearly isn't the time to fixate on trivial matters.

The pair pushes themselves forward, one targeting the enemy aliens from the sky – Nightwing – and the other from the ground – Batgirl. Tossing exploding discs or _Wing Dings_ as Nightwing calls them, the smaller aliens that hadn't yet matured are wiped out almost immediately.

Batgirl has a more difficult time, however, trying to pass through the sea of civilians all escaping from their shelters, but manages to toss her own weapons to a large, horned alien – it drops the human limbs from its claws and turns to Batgirl while shrieking at the feeling of electricity running through its entire body.

Unfortunately, its body isn't paralyzed like it's supposed to be. It charges for Batgirl who leaps to the side, only to be blown away by the repercussions of the alien's fist hitting the earth. She lands on her knees, cursing at the fact that she still isn't experienced enough to land on her feet like she wants – _needs_ – to. But pain is a daily occurrence in her life, and she speedily pulls herself up again.

Batgirl runs behind a large pile of rubble created before the sudden attack and pulls out a few more discs from her belt. With her perfected accuracy from training with Nightwing, Batgirl launches them to the large alien again; the blue lines of electricity runs around the olive green scales of the beast again, and it whips back and forth with its fists near the horns, shrieking out in pain. Before the alien can recover, Batgirl heads straight to it, sliding underneath and in between its legs, and attaching a timed bomb near the base of its body; it explodes just when she's far enough.

"One down…" Batgirl tells herself and looks at the city again, seeing Nightwing bringing down two others; she does a quick scan of the area, "half a dozen to go!"

"Focus, BG!"

Batgirl grins, amused at the fact that Nightwing seems to have the eyes on the back of his head, or perhaps a sixth sense. "Got it, Wing!"

She climbs to the top of the wall this time, hoping that another timed bomb to the head would be more effective. Leaping onto the back of the creature's body, she's glad that the scales allow her to have more grip, as one hand is secured around its elephant tusk-like horns, protruding at the very top of its head.

Unfortunately, as she's reaching for her explosive, the creature twists its body from side to side rapidly until Batgirl is flung across the field. She lands in a set of arms.

"Careful there," Nightwing says. He lifts her before she has a chance to retort or move, and dashes behind an apartment building for safety – the aliens don't seem to notice. "Run out of Wing Dings yet?"

Batgirl pants heavily as she pulls herself together. "Not yet. I'm fine –"

"Your arm is bleeding!"

She sighs and watches the Kroloteans dig beneath the rubble for some human victims. "I've had worse injuries, even before I was Batgirl. I'm going to be alright."

"But –"

She turns and places a finger over his lips. "Nightwing," she starts, but isn't exactly sure of what to say next. The only thing that is running through her mind is her wish that he would _stop_ worrying so much, because worrying meant caring, and caring is the reason why she let Lian go; she _can't_ allow herself to watch someone she cared for die. She gulps and leaves her mouth hanging open.

Nightwing doesn't give her an opportunity to say anything though, nor does he let her turn around to finish the fight. Pulling her by the waist, they end up only inches away from one another.

"It's alright to be scared," he says, his breath tickling her skin. "But it's also alright to put your trust into others and let them take care of you when you need them."

"I don't need –"

"It doesn't matter if you're convinced you don't need someone; sometimes it's just best to have that person."

And within moments, number seventeen of Barbara Gordon's bucket list is crossed off. It's not how she had expected it to be, for her kiss to be with a man whose real name she doesn't know, but the feeling of his lips melting against hers, the touch of his hand secured behind her neck, and the warm, fluttering feeling in her chest…Batgirl doesn't care if this is a man she had met only a few weeks ago. She just knows that after all these years of trying to limit human connection from her life as much as possible, she doesn't want to do that anymore.

They part to breathe, but Nightwing's lips find their way to her forehead as he holds her close to him.

"Nightwing," she whispers, "I –"

The building in front of them explodes and an alien fist comes flying through.

Nightwing and Batgirl leap out of the way, hands gripping onto their weapons and legs ready to pounce at any given moment. But instead of a one-versus-one fight like Batgirl was used to, the entire alien flock remaining (a total of seven, savage beasts) has plans to team up on them.

She stares at them in horror, but sees Nightwing nod in the corner of her eyes. Regaining assurance, Batgirl follows him, leaping towards the aliens, tossing the weapons, and dodging their attacks. Nightwing hits them with his escrima sticks whenever she ducks, and she attaches a timed bomb whenever they are distracted by Nightwing's antics. All in all, Batgirl can say that they work well together, especially for a pair who had only begun working together for less than a month.

But the thought is completely wiped away when an arm flies her way and knocks her against a brick wall with full force. Every bitter feeling of pain swims through her body, including her head. Every limb goes numb.

"Ba-gi-l!"

She coughs several times, forcing herself to open her eyes, but her vision is hazy. She can feel someone – Nightwing? – try to pull her up, only to drop her back down to the ground again. She gasps for air, and reaches out for the dark suited man.

"Ni-Nightwing?" She manages to wheeze out from her throat, and pulls herself forward while on her knees. Her vision clears up somewhat, albeit is still fuzzy around the edges. She sees a spacecraft pull up nearby, and the aliens picking up Nightwing's limp body.

Her body reacts negatively. She panics and the words that escape her lips are unrecognizable. She can't think properly with the loud beating of her chest, and her mind asking a dozen questions every second, all revolving around how Nightwing was knocked out.

_He got hurt trying to save me,_ she realizes, horrified at the truth.

Her innards twist and turn, urging Batgirl to let them out of her body as she imprecisely extends her arm, ignoring the blood rushing down her face. "Ni-Nightwing!" She screams again at the top of her lungs; her voice cracks between sobs, but no matter how much she tries, her legs refuse to behave. With her arm flat on the ground, she pulls herself forward.

"Nightwing! Nightwing!" She continues to call out, even after the aliens board their ship and prepare for takeoff. She can see the arm hanging from the edge of the ship – _his_ arm, the arm that was wrapped around her just moments ago. Batgirl could feel moisture building heavily in the corner of her eyes and down her cheeks.

"_NIGHTWING!"_

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tbc


	4. and I was yours

**By**: Xmarksthespot  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own any copyrighted material, including works that belong to the Young Justice cartoon and DC comics.  
**Notes**: Written during the summer time, pre-Invasion hiatus. **Triggers: Thoughts of self-harm.**

Thank you for all your feedback. I really appreciate all of your comments and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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**Just an Ordinary Day**

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"Superman can totally kick Batman's butt," Dick argued, shoving his Superman action figure towards Barbara's face. He had kept his voice down whenever this particular dispute occurred inside the manor, because at the age of thirteen, being the pathological liar he was, had somehow convinced Barbara that it was because Bruce was a hard-core Batman fan, and would've grounded him if he heard what his ward was saying.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right, Dick! Batman has the Joker and Two-Face – if he can take down those guys and Superman has what, Lex Luthor? It's clear that Batman's better!"

Dick stuck his tongue out. "Fine, let's just agree that they're both cool. Besides, they work together like, all the time! Either way, they're both better than _you_."

Barbara shot her head up. "W-What?"

He got up on his feet and crossed his arms while looking down at her. "Superman and Batman are loyal to their friends, a trait you clearly don't have."

"D-Dick, what are you talking ab–"

"You left me Barbara. You _left_ me to _die_, and then you _killed_ your own dad."

Suddenly, the boy in front of him grew several feet, his hair also lengthening as well. The black jacket and jeans he was wearing morphed into a skin tight suit, and his eyes were covered by a mask.

"You only know how to run, don't you, _Batgirl_?" Nightwing growled. "Run and hide and leave _us_ to die."

-.-

Batgirl wakes up in a shelter, panting heavily. She turns to the side where a woman in her late thirties had shaken her awake; a worried expression is painted on her face.

"Please be quiet," the woman pleads. "_They_ might still be out there. Shh…."

Batgirl is confused, but then looks down at her arms and legs; her wounds are bandaged, most likely by this woman and the remaining civilians in the shelter with her, but she never thanks them. She doesn't speak at all or make any indication of gratitude and understanding to the people around her. Instead, she tears off her mask so that she can wipe the tears from her eyes.

That night, she dreams the same dream again, of all the boys she had loved and lost in her life: her dad, Dick, and now Nightwing. She had lost them all, because in this war, this struggle to survive, there are no survivors, no matter how much she wants to stay in her oblivious little world. Dick was dead the night of the invasion; her dad's body was now a skeletal corpse, and Nightwing?

He's gone.

Barbara doesn't even have the courage to tell herself otherwise.

-.-

Barbara leaves the shelter as soon as she can feel her arms and legs again. She doesn't want to endanger the people there any further with her constant screaming, merely heading back to her camp and tossing everything, including her suit, back into the bag. She doesn't care that her only clothes left are a t-shirt and pants that barely fitted; she'd rather run around naked than wear the cat suit again.

She walks aimlessly in a circle, only using her knife to survive. She kills animals for meat, stops at rivers for water, and sleeps under bridges and in alleyways.

She's clueless as to what to do now. She doesn't have a family to take care of, and there is no specific place she has to go to. She comes across some thieves, and only acts whenever they threaten her, but for the other civilians in danger?

If they can't take care of themselves in a regular mugging, how did they expect to last an alien attack? What's the point in rescuing them when they're going to die anyway?

Barbara does everything in order to survive, but she stops caring to live.

-.-

She stares at the sky for hours that day, approximately two or three months after the disappearance of Nightwing. Her eyes wander back and forth, only stopping their movements when she sees the silhouette of some birds fly by – flying far, far away from her.

She plans on cutting her nails that afternoon, and maybe cut her growing hair too now that she has her knife out, but the feeling of metal against her bare skin, the look of the silver next to the tanned arm and greenish veins – everything seems appealing.

Her lips are dehydrated and she can already taste blood in her mouth; it allows her to easily visualize the same blood flowing from her wrists. But every time she is tempted to move her hands, twist the blade against her arm, something would distract her: the cry of a civilian nearby, the chirping of a bird, _Dick's_ voice inside her head.

Abruptly, she launches the knife away from her and drops her arms. She bangs the side of her head against the concrete wall and bites her bottom lip, screaming in pain at the same time as the tears are released from her eyes.

"WHY?!" She rages, slamming her fist against the dirt ground. _Why did you all leave me?!_ She continues to scream in her mind, but the only noise that comes out of her is a whimper. She draws her legs in and wraps her arms around them, tucking into a ball.

There's nothing but the sound of her sobs for many hours after that, and it isn't until she runs out of tears that she hears the noise nearby: the sound of chirping; squeaks at a high pitch that are too innocent sounding to be from a hunting bird. Like a ragdoll, her arms and legs feel loose and limp, but Barbara somehow manages herself up, and she chases after the sound.

When she finds the tree, maybe a mile or two from the next city, it is half burnt off but still is standing tall and alive; she pulls herself up to the branches. There, before her very eyes, is a nest of baby birds, covered in black and grey feathers and eagerly waiting for their mother.

They are baby robins.

The birds flap their newly developed wings, some trying to make their way out of the nest, but they're clearly too young to be leaving the family at that point, and so luckily, none of them had fallen out.

Barbara doesn't know how long she hangs from there, just watching the birds on the next branch over, squawking loudly at their brothers and sisters, but she knows she has to vanish before their mother comes back. Scaling down the tree, Barbara stands at the base and stares at the empty roads.

Sometime after, she continues to wander down the streets, searching back and forth for any signs of life, but it seems like this place is one of the most deserted cities she has been to. The aliens clearly did a good job finishing their dinner here.

It's her appearance in the reflection of a convenient store's glass that stops her from walking any farther. Her hair has grown considerably, now reaching passed her shoulders. She hasn't had her hair that long since freshman year of high school.

Ignoring the bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, and a few faded pink lines marring her face, her skin appears blemish free. She is much taller than she once had been, but the lack of food and constant running left her leaner than before.

Once she's done looking at herself, her eyes shift to the side where many advertisements are losing their stickiness on the glass windows. Her hands reach for one poster in particular. She pushes the corner back so that she can have a full view of everything.

_The circus is coming!_

Barbara raises a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, almost laughing at the image of the clowns and acrobats underneath the bolded text. Then, with a muffled sob and a grin, she looks up at the sky, noticing the setting sun.

"Damn it, Dick," she murmurs mid cry. "You're not very subtle, are you?"

-.-

Batgirl arrives at the scene just moments after the victim screams. She prevents two attempted rapes, and stops a large brawl out in the corner of the streets near a shelter of women and children. With her cat suit and newly stitched bat symbol on her chest, she heroically goes on patrol in the evening to keep watch for any Kroloteans, and goes ahead to design more weapons – she likes to call them Bat-a-Rangs to suit her heroic identity – with scraps of wire and gun powder.

She even produces some weapons that shock its victims with electricity – the same ones Nightwing had given her. In fact, his words of advice ring through her mind continuously whenever she dons the Batgirl outfit. She trains when she can, and becomes more alert than ever now.

Barbara never had a problem with heights over the years, but still leaps from tall buildings on a nightly basis in order to practice landing on her feet rather than her knees and bottom.

She still isn't sure where she's travelling to exactly, and the memory of her dad and Dick pops up every once in a while, but they no longer make her happy as they used to. Rather, the rush of excitement and knowledge that she saves others are what brings her joy. Whenever she is thanked, or when she sees the happiness printed on someone's face, the heavy feeling in her chest lightens. All the fear bottled up in her body fades away.

Batgirl – Barbara Gordon – begins living again.

-.-

"Take the kids and run as far as you can! Don't stop – I don't know if I can take down all of the aliens, but I'll try my best to slow them down. Hurry!" Batgirl instructs a group of survivors.

After the civilians rush off into the distance, she turns to face the group of aliens –the _hungry_ Kroloteans. She throws three of her Bat-a-Rangs at once, each hitting the target and exploding on contact. Before all of the smoke can clear out, Batgirl manages to run far enough away from the creatures, but makes sure she's still in their sight.

When they begin following after her, she leads the aliens into a separate territory – a trap – she had been building for several days.

Ferris Aircraft was one of the buildings she encountered when she arrived to this new city. Although all of the jets were destroyed, there was one helicopter that was untouched deep within the building. It had taken her one and a half days before she had figured out how everything worked, but the most she did with it was pilot it towards the city area.

She watches the wires that are all laid out onto the ground carefully, surrounding a thick mesh of net she and the townspeople had found. Batgirl jumps over them as she runs. She climbs to the door of the helicopter, entering the cockpit. Her eyes are fixed forward out of the window as she presses onto the controls she memorized. The arrows along the meters begin shifting back and forth and a loud whirling noise starts to buzz around her.

"Come on, come on," she prays and breathes a sigh of relief when the buttons on the panel begin to flash; she can hear the propellers start up.

Looking back down on ground level, she waits until the majority of the aliens are within the circle and onto the net. In the exact moment the aliens step over the wired mesh, she pulls onto the lever sitting by her legs as hard as she can.

All at once, the mines laid out explode and run electricity. The corners of the net fly up along with the copter she is sitting in, lugging the trapped creatures with her; they cry out in anguish, screaming in an incomprehensible language.

Batgirl adjusts the collective-pitch leverage, and can feel gravity pushing her down as the aircraft goes up. She can't hear the aliens anymore, but with a glance outside the window, can tell they are still trapped within the net – some have stopped moving since the electric shock.

She flies up as high as she can and when she's at a proper altitude, in the middle of an empty, desert area, she presses onto a button. It beeps and the helicopter budges upwards slightly as it releases the load.

From her position, she can see all of the aliens crashing onto the dry land, but her victory doesn't last for very long.

Before she knows it, another – louder – propeller is heard and a shadow blocks her vision. Next to her helicopter is another giant spacecraft and Batgirl can only let out a muffled cry at the sight of all the aliens in that ship.

It releases a missile.

Instantly, Batgirl shuts her eyes and remains still, waiting for the explosion.

However, she feels no pain. Slowly (and hesitantly) lifting her eyelids back up, she looks around. All she sees are the mountainous field that make up the area. Her helicopter has shut itself off, and up in the sky isn't _just_ the one alien's spaceship, but another one – a _different _one.

She hopes that whoever it is, controlling that red-orange ship, is nicer than the Kroloteans.

-.-

"Are you okay?"

Batgirl doesn't answer, and steps away from the green skinned girl with red hair. One hand reaches into her belt, and she grazes her Bat-a-Rang with her thumb, preparing to use it if necessary.

The female alien however, strangely in a humanoid form that doesn't resemble the Kroloteans whatsoever, looks apologetic and holds out her arm. "W-Wait, you don't have to be afraid. I'm not one of them!" She says, but it doesn't change Batgirl's readying position.

"She's right, you know. Martians are the furthest thing away from those creepy Kroloteans!"

Batgirl's eyes widen and she looks up at the source of the voice. There, in the middle of the air, is a floating blonde girl in a black tank and red pants.

She never adjusts her position though, still eyeing the newcomers suspiciously when suddenly, a buzzing noise circles her head. The bee heads straight for the two other girls and enlarges itself, revealing a dark skinned girl with a yellow and black outfit.

"We were supposed to be here over half an hour ago, but _someone_ was taking longer than necessary flirting with Jaime," the third girl says, leering over towards the blonde.

"I wasn't flirting, Karen!"

Batgirl straightens herself up and takes her hand out of her belt – she never lets go of her exploding disc, however.

With this move, the green girl smiles.

"I'm Miss Martian," she introduces herself. "I'm the leader of our squad."

"And I'm Wonder Girl! Or you can call me Cassie!" the blonde says enthusiastically, landing nearby. "That was _so_ cool with the helicopter back there by the way!"

"Bumble Bee," the tallest member of the group greets, grinning.

Batgirl hesitates for a moment, but then softens her stance. "Hi…I'm Batgirl."

Their reaction isn't what she is expecting. Cassie, for one, squeals at the name and turns to her friends – clearly they know something Batgirl doesn't.

Miss Martian is the one who speaks though. "You must be the girl Nightwing was talking about –he's been searching for you, you know?"

Batgirl gasps, almost letting the explosive drop from her hands. She places it back into her belt for safekeeping and manages to breathe out her words in happiness: "He's alive?"

Bumble Bee nods. "Mhm, his brothers are pretty adamant about him staying alive. They don't let nobody mess with their big bro."

Miss Martian then claps her hands together at a thought. "Hey, you should come with us! He'll be so excited to see you."

"Plus, we've got a butler who can sew a kickass costume, and you look like you'll need one," Cassie mentions, pointing out at the wears and tears of Batgirl's outfit. "Plus, his cookies are to die for – not literally though!"

Batgirl nods weakly, unsure of exactly what they said; her mind has stopped focusing at the thought of Nightwing. She can already see him grinning in front of her, hear his laugh and feel his hand grabbing for hers.

"Um, hello?"

She shoots her head back up in surprise, and stutters. "Uh…"

Miss Martian giggles and gives Batgirl a look that indicates she knew what the human was thinking. "Come on, we'll take you to the base. It's not too far from here actually."

Batgirl nods and follows the three heroes in front of her. She can only hear her chest though, more so than anything. It's louder than any of the girls' voices and faster than Batgirl's footsteps. She secretly hopes that none of the girls would turn at that moment and see her ridiculous facial expression, because she knows for a fact that it's wearing a stupid grin.

She's going to see Nightwing.

-.-

"Don't worry, Batgirl, she's really friendly," Miss Martian says, petting her _Bio-ship_. She smiles reassuringly and boards onto it.

Never in Batgirl's entire life did she think she would ever get onto an alien ship willingly. However, with a securing look on Bumble Bee's and Wonder Girl's faces, she follows after Miss Martian and is seat belted into a spot.

They arrive at a mountain after two hours of flight. Batgirl stares at it curiously, like a child at an amusement park, bewildered by all of the exotic looking rides. She continues to follow the three other girls towards the one entrance of the cave, blanketed with mold and all sorts of vegetation – they had to press a serious of buttons before the machine would allow her inside.

Needless to say, Batgirl is still in shock, especially by the number of people present. Not to mention all of the different costumes they are wearing. There has to be around two dozen heroes occupying the mountain.

The atmosphere feels warm – it feels like _home._ Everyone is talking to each other, sitting down on broken couches or leaning up against the charcoal burnt walls. The lights flicker once or twice since her arrival, but remains lit for the younger costumed heroes to play with their cards.

Some of them turn and nod at Batgirl, accepting her arrival and greeting her for the first time, but they stay in their own territory. No one wants to crowd around her, seeming to respect her personal space and it is clear to Batgirl that she would have to approach them herself, or find a better time to introduce herself.

Almost immediately, she catches sight of Red Robin, now older than when she last saw him. Another figure catches her eye though, a young boy with a scowl on his face – he is wearing a Robin costume, but with a green mask – and is arguing with Red Robin. The leader of the Outlaws – the one with the red helmet – approaches them and after taking off his headgear, overpowers both Red Robin's and Robin's voice with his own screaming; all three begin a verbal spar and the scene, though a little strange, reminds Batgirl of a sibling rivalry.

But her eyes continue to dance wildly around the cave. She searches for the familiar blue bird, but can never help herself but stop every once in a while.

"Billy," she mutters. A sigh of relief escapes her lips at the sight of the young teenager from the night at the dumpster a year ago, laughing away with a different – greener and more animalistic – boy.

And at the sound of a baby's laughter, she turns to see the redheaded man, the same one who held a gun to her head, sitting on top of the counter. Arsenal has a toddler in his arm (she looks approximately two or three years old), and is flexing his new, prosthetic arm. He's talking to a dark skinned, tattooed man with webbed hands while bouncing the girl up and down on his knee.

"Alright, time to eat, Lian," he says to her.

Batgirl feels her stomach drop and her chest twist in nostalgia. She wants to run over to them, and pull the toddler into her arms and thank her for everything she'd given Barbara, but her feet keep trailing behind Miss Martian.

_Lian would have to come later_, she tells herself.

Before Batgirl arrives at the doorway, she can see the Flash (with his mask off, revealing a head of bright, red hair) waving at her, and the woman in his arms–Artemis–doing the same. Batgirl grins in return and gives them a weak wave, still too shocked to do anything strongly.

"He's inside," Miss Martian suddenly speaks up, making Batgirl jump in surprise.

The human nods and hesitantly walks pass the Martian and into the adjacent room. She catches a glimpse of a calendar, pinned up on the wall. All the passed days are X-ed off, indicating which day it is that day.

Then, she sees a dark figure operating a large computer; he stops moving when he notices her step in.

"Uh, hi?" He says, unsure as to who it was.

She claps her hand over her mouth – she can't help it – and begins to cry.

The room is then lit as Nightwing steps over towards her, equally surprised at the sight of her. He stands there with a smile, waiting for Batgirl to end her sobs. He doesn't speak until only her shoulders are left shaking slightly.

"So you finally came," Nightwing starts with a chuckle. "I was beginning to worry you didn't accept my offer."

Batgirl reaches out her hand and punches him in the arm lightly. "I would've gotten here earlier if you had given me the directions, Wing-Nut," she says, half sniffling and half laughing. She lifts her hand again to dry her face, only stopping when Nightwing cups her face in his own hand, wiping the tears with his thumb and pushing the strands of loose hair away from her face.

"I'm glad you're alright," he starts. "I was really worried that the Kroloteans got to you."

"_You_ were worried? You were the one that got taken."

He chuckles and after a moment of silence, suggests: "How about dinner? I think we have some fried Kroloteans left."

Batgirl nods contently, still wiping her wet cheeks. "Sure," she says, and begins to turn her body when in the corner of her eye, she sees Nightwing stretch his arms and pull off his mask.

"Great, I've been meaning to take a break for a – Batgirl? Is something wrong?"

But she doesn't respond. She _can't_ respond. The sight of Nightwing without his mask, the bright blue eyes penetrating through the room, staring directly at her… Her mouth drops open, allowing oxygen to enter her body as her nose forgets how to breathe. Her lower jaw quivers and her eyes feel moisture again.

She wants to extend her arm, to reach out and place her palm against his cheek, but her body refuses to move, and the only thing she can do was stare back at his eyes.

Batgirl doesn't know if she is flushed – if the colour of her skin matches the colour of her hair – or if she is crying again. She is thankful that her knees don't give in, that she doesn't drop to the ground, because she wants to remain eye level with the man in front of her.

Her throat is the first to surrender though, and she squeaks. Batgirl closes her mouth and she presses her lips together.

_Heavy on the dis_, she thinks, laughing at herself now. The voice that said it in her head begins putting together jig-saw pieces, forming an image of a young, thirteen year old boy, and connecting it with that of the man in front of her.

She beams and laughs out loud.

"Dick Grayson…"

Dick's eyes widen and then his brows tilt in confusion. He moves his head to the side, and studies Batgirl questionably. "How did you–"

Batgirl swiftly tears off her mask, and begs that she is just as recognizable after puberty as he is to her.

Dick gives a small chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. He combs his fingers through his hair at the turn of events and says with a tone of recognition, "Barbara Gordon…" The laughter continues to rumble through his throat.

She sniffs, and ignores the ache in her cheeks from smiling so much. Within an instant, she wraps her arms around the Kevlar protected body, squeezing it as tightly as she can; she doesn't want to let go. Digging her face into his chest, she is welcomed in his arms and in perfect silence, stays in that position for what felt like hours, but was probably only a short amount of time.

"We have a lot to catch up on," he says, breath tickling her skin.

They part, and Barbara can't help but laugh again. She drops her arms and pinches her thigh, making sure that this isn't a dream, but then he speaks, and his voice is enough to confirm that yes, this isn't a delusion, or a fantasy–this is real.

"Coming, Babs?" He asks, using the name that hasn't been used in eight years.

It feels perfect coming from him, it sounds safe and warm and easily erases every horrible, painful feeling Barbara had suffered through. Babs: the name that is used by one person in the entire world who is _alive_ and _living_ and right before her very eyes.

Barbara smiles. "Of course I am, Hunk Wonder."

He grins widely at the nickname, and Barbara laughs along with him. He reaches for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers.

-.-

Barbara Gordon and Richard Grayson had met on a Monday, at exactly 8:17 in the evening. She was the daughter of the commissioner, and he was a boy from the circus. It was believed that fate had brought them together.

And after so long, it was the boy that had kept her alive, and it was the girl who refused to give up on him. It might have been fate that brought the girl and the boy together, but the thing that reunited them in the end? That was hope.

They had met on a Monday.

Today is a Tuesday.

.

.

.

fin


End file.
